Mysteries of the Deserted Mansion

By Paula Diggs

Take a trip from the surf In Southern California to the gold country of Alaska when two super sleuths are captured by weird forces. They become the power of good over evil. A horrific crash from someone’s nightmare opens doors in a deserted mansion they pass on their way home from school. These sleuths are joined by four curious kids and the fun begins. They bring terrible criminals to justice and take a wild ride in a luxury motor home to an Inuit village in Alaska. After a struggle these kids use fearless insights and talents to turn a haunted deserted mansion into a home. In the end three of these heroes and one heroine gear up their abilities for Middle school as the others including the parents cheer them on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663248190

Paula Diggs

Paula Diggs, M.A. M.S. is an educator, writer, and artist who has lived and studies in the Mid West, England and France. She has earned awards for her art work and published in the Art Therapy Journal. She resides in Southern California with her husband and two dogs, an American Eskomo and Aussie Doodle.

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Paula Diggs.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

844-349-9409

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4820-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4819-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022922168

iUniverse rev. date: 11/28/2022

CONTENTS

PART 1

Who Would Have Dreamed?

Chapter 1 Fear Itself

Chapter 2 Keyed Up

Chapter 3 Bumps in the Night

Chapter 4 Imagine

Chapter 5 A Ghostly Wreck

Chapter 6 Who Are You?

Chapter 7 Shadows Speak

Chapter 8 Trouble, Trouble, Toil, and Trouble

Chapter 9 Hang Ten

Chapter 10 A Piece of the Puzzle

Chapter 11 Small Changes

Chapter 12 Geeks Bearing Gifts

Chapter 13 Whoo-whoo

Chapter 14 Riding the Waves

PART 2

Mystery of the Charred Donuts

Chapter 1 Doesn’t Feel Right

Chapter 2 Just the Facts

Chapter 3 A Stitch in Time

Chapter 4 Blowing in the Wind

Chapter 5 Wipeout

Chapter 6 No Way Out

Chapter 7 Will Satisfaction Bring It Back?

Chapter 8 Straight Is the Gate

Chapter 9 Birds of a Feather

PART 3

Five Super Sleuths in Alaska

Chapter 1 Heading up North

Chapter 2 Bag It

Chapter 3 On the Road Again

Chapter 4 Jockey for Position

Chapter 5 Rock, Paper, Scissors

Chapter 6 Time Flies When You’re Having Fun

Chapter 7 Watch Out!

Chapter 8 Always a Journey

PART 1

WHO WOULD HAVE

DREAMED?

CHAPTER 1

FEAR ITSELF

38762.png

B urrrrr rrrp.

Oh sorry, excuse me. I’ve just learned how to make a super-long burp or belch. It comes in handy when the principal at my school is giving me a lecture or making me write standards by the hour. I guess she’ll have me write I won’t daydream; that’s what annoys my teacher.

People ask why I don’t do something useful. Daydreaming is a useful way to keep out of trouble when I’m restless and bored. Otherwise, who knows what I’d do. I ask my teacher questions she doesn’t want to answer, like Why don’t you ever get your car washed?

Here I sit in the principal’s office. Ouch! This stupid chair she makes me sit in always pinches my butt. These blue uniform shorts they make me wear are way too short on my long legs. Sometimes I like school, but mostly I don’t. All I really want to do is use my imagination to take me where I want to go.

You can come with me, but it might be scary. My name’s Kevin. I’m ten. When my grandmother told my mom after I broke something, He’ll be eleven soon, my mom said, Thank God! Maybe ten isn’t the best age to be, but I like it.

Sometimes it isn’t easy to be me. I’m an active, smart boy who just seems to get in trouble a lot at school. I’ve got sharp eyes and see stuff others miss because I’m always on the move. I like everything about me except for this hideous red hair that sticks out. No one else in my family has it. My mom is mostly Irish, so I think it’s her fault. Irish people have red hair.

My grandmother is married to Fred, who is called African American. I told my teacher I am German Irish American and filled it out on an absence slip, and she sent me to the principal. My dad is 100 percent German, and my mom told us she’s mostly Irish. That’s what I mean. Sometimes nothing makes sense. Yesterday I burped accidentally in the principal’s office and got sent home. I like my home. That’s not a punishment.

I read a lot when people are mad at me. My folks are pretty cool, and nobody stays mad very long. My best friend, Magee, lives on my street. We live in a little town by the beach in Southern California. It’s called Los Arboles. That means trees in Spanish. We’re near a huge, crowded city packed with people and cars. Gag!

Tons of people like the warm climate and being near the Mexican border. Los Arboles used to grow all the stuff people in the city wanted: fruits, vegetables, even flowers. Now all the farms are turning into places where rich people want to live—condos and such. Double gag!

Even so, a lot of the old farms and plants are still around. Old buildings and farm stuff left around make good places for me and Magee to play when we’re not suffering in school, having to sit still. I was expelled from preschool because I wouldn’t ‘sit in the circle and sing; I just ran around like a wild animal. They told my folks I was too distractible. I still get that, but I’m very observant, seeing everything, keeping on the move.

Magee and I live in the same block on the bluffs above the best surfing spot in our town. Our dads are surfers, and they taught us to ride the waves. That’s what we do a lot—sit on our boards and just wait.

We watch the sets roll in day after day, morning to night, whenever we can. The ocean is like a constantly moving creature. Aside from an occasional storm, nothing much ever happens here. That’s what Magee and I were talking about as we walked home from school last week. We both want to work for the school newspaper. I’m going to be a photographer when I grow up, and maybe write a book, and Magee wants to write stories. He has a fantastic imagination. Nothing ever happens here that would make a good story.

Magee will be a good writer. I’m sure of it. He can imagine anything. We’ve been friends since we were babies. His place is across the block in a house that used to be a summer cottage. Eucalyptus and pine trees grow all around it. I love the smell of those trees. The house has white wood boards and has windows everywhere. We hide in little add-on rooms, which are great places to store stuff we find in the trash on our walks home. I’ve found some amazing things, like ancient eyeglasses and foreign coins. That stuff makes me imagine all sorts of weird things.

Magee’s mom and dad are friends with mine, so we have big picnics at the beach and do other stuff with them. Magee is an only child, but I am happy to share my two brothers, Ward and Ryder, any time. We all get along, which is remarkable, since we’re pretty wild and rowdy most of the time.

My home was a little old farmhouse surrounded by a high, falling-down wooden fence. The main house has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a main room, and a place to eat. Below is an art space where my mom and dad make clay stuff and park our car.

Besides the main house, there is a little cottage out back surrounded by old almond trees and several sheds. We guys build forts and castles for plays we write and act out on the hay bales my mom got for us. She likes theater. Sometimes she writes plays for us to perform at special occasions in our big backyard. I don’t have lots of guys I like to play with; one best buddy is enough for me.

My folks have planted apple trees and my mom makes excellent apple pie. She has a huge garden and grows all the vegetables we eat. My folks don’t have a TV, but we never seem to want to sit and watch stuff. My dad plays the piano when he needs to relax. I play the drums.

We have two working cats whose job is to keep the mice and gophers out of my mom’s garden. So far the score is Cats 2, Gophers 0.

Magee and I go to the same school up a hill and across a busy street. We’re in the same grade but have different classrooms. We walk home every day, talking and looking for adventure, if we can get away before the moms make us ride in the carpool.

The day when this adventure started, we had escaped from the carpool. It was what’s called an early day because of the teacher’s meeting. We told Ward when he went to the carpool to tell our mom that we’d walked home. We headed up the hill toward our house. We walked slowly, talking about a project we were going to make for the science fair. We planned to make a demo on permafrost in Alaska. We’d use dry ice for cold. As we were just moseying along a few blocks from home on a street with lots of huge trees, strange things started to happen.

It’s so boring here I can hardly stand it, I told Magee.

He answered, Listen, hear that? The surf’s up. Supposed to be big.

Let’s get our gear and go for it. Hang ten! Wait, what’s that? A shiny object lay hidden in the grass, but it seemed to send out a light.

Looks like a key, Magee said. Weird, it’s like it’s flashing light at us.

I picked it up and put it in my pocket.